


Like a Butterfly on a Pin

by vanessa_cardui



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Conditioning, F/F, Sexual Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:17:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanessa_cardui/pseuds/vanessa_cardui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's reformed.  She's one of the good guys now, and she plays by all their stupid rules.</p>
<p>And if everyone else thinks Moira is dead, then what Emma does to her doesn't really count, does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Butterfly on a Pin

There was the click of the door upstairs, and Moira hoped. Every time, she hoped. Charles, or Logan, or Scott, or Eric—they were the heroes. Sooner or later, one of them would find out what Emma had done. Sooner or later, one of them would find her, and they'd know that Emma wasn't what she was trying to be. Sooner or later--

"Not today, though," said Emma. Maybe in Moira's mind, maybe aloud—Moira couldn't tell the difference anymore. Emma's heel clicked down the stairs. One, two, three, four—Moira counted them out as Emma came down into the basement. Sixteen stairs. And then--

"It's just so irritating," said Emma, pulling over the folding chair and considering Moira. She'd left her tied on her belly, this time, her ankles tied to her thighs, her wrists to her shoulders, collar to the ring in the floor.

Emma crossed one leg over the other, shook her head. "Scott is cute, no question. But when there's an obvious solution to his problems, he just refuses to do what is necessary."

"Because he has morals," Moira spat out. "Because he's a good person, which--"

"Hush," said Emma, and Moira was instantly silent. It had been. . . months? Years? But while Emma had been careful not to break her, she had conditioned her. Moira could no more speak after being told to hush than she could fly.

Emma pressed a button on her remote, and the collar disconnected from the ring on the floor. "Come here," she said, and Moira crawled laboriously over, on her knees and elbows, wanting to flee, and utterly unable to even try.

"You are right," said Emma. "He is a good person, which I'll never be. Fortunately, I have you, to help me blow off steam, from time to time. Now, what will it be today? Ice or fire, knives or . . ." she trailed off, and Moira shivered, tried to keep her mind clear. She would know, she would know, and she would use it, and--

"Of course," said Emma. "The spike. You don't like that one at all, do you, puppet?"

Moira's whole body was shivering. It was ten inches long, and bone, and it . . . it wasn't sharp, was the thing. It tore, rather than cut.

"Yes," said Emma. "If you insist. Go get it, and wait for me, over the drain."

Moira was shaking, every bone and every joint. The longer she took, the worse it would be. But she hesitated, and Emma laughed.

"It reminds you of your death, doesn't it?" she asked.

Moira closed her eyes, tried not to think.

"Mystique," said Emma. "And Sabertooth. And you without anything. Which is why I brought you back, Moira, rather than any of the others. No surprises up your sleeve, no powers to call down in wrath. Just a lovely little thing to use until it breaks. It wasn't easy getting you back, but it was worth it. Now, go get your spike, and we'll play a little. If you're good, I'll let you kiss my foot when I'm done. You want that, don't you?"

She did want that. Moira didn't know if it was her wanting that, or Emma making her want that. But she wanted it more than anything. Elbows and knees, over to the box of tools. She'd have to carry the spike back in her mouth, of course.

And then Emma would play.


End file.
